


the only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Codependency, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Feeding, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Secret Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Five years after the end of the war, Duke Fraldarius and the King are inseparable. His advisors pressure him to take a wife, but Dimitri keeps telling them that he is too busy. Every time someone even tries to make advances on Felix, they are mysteriously never seen in Fhirdiad ever again. Nobody suspects a thing, because they are just sworn friends, like their fathers before them, like Kyphon and Loog.... right?
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120
Collections: Anonymous, FE3H Kink Meme





	the only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Dimitri/felix - unhealthy co-dependence.
> 
> Duke Fraldarius and the King are inseparable. The Kingdom keeps pressuring him to take a wife, but Dimitri keeps telling them that he is too busy. Every time someone even tries to make advances on Felix, they are mysteriously never seen in Fhirdiad ever again. Nobody suspects a thing, because they are just sworn friends, like their father's before them, like Kyphon and Loog.... right?
> 
> No. Turns out, ruling a kingdom and getting over years and years of trauma in a world without therapy is hard, and the only way to cope is to cling to each other until neither of them knows where one begins and the other ends.
> 
> You can decide if the relationship becomes more healthy later, or if it is revealed, but first show me all the unhealthy ways they love each other way too much.
> 
> \+ D/s  
> ++ Possessive Dimitri (he's not losing another person he loves... Ever.)  
> +++ Sylvain and Ingrid (or any of the blue lions really) find out eventually.
> 
> Link: https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2315592#cmt2315592

Nobody knows.

They’re discussing a particular land dispute at Gondor, but Felix can’t hear a word they’re saying. He’s sitting at his King’s right hand. It was his father’s chair, just like Dimitri’s seat at the head of the table used to belong to King Lambert. 

Nobody knows that underneath the table, Dimitri’s hand on Felix’s inner thigh moves up at the speed of a glacier. 

Felix can keep a straight face: he’s had plenty of practice. Dimitri’s thumb traces circles through the fabric of his pants. It’s royal blue, the color of the Blaiddyd family. It is not unusual for a Fraldarius to wear his King’s colors after all.

Nobody knows that Dimitri had it made for him, just like most of his clothing. 

Felix takes a deep breath, and in the middle of Von Aegir’s speech, slams his fist on the table. 

“Can’t we settle this the old way?” He proposes firmly. “Have everyone fight it out. The winner gets the land. Easy solution, everyone’s happy.”

Margrave Gautier - the elder, Sylvain is too busy in Sreng to attend this bureaucratic nightmare, the lucky bastard - nods eagerly. 

Ferdinand sighs. “The land should pass to the right person, not the strongest one.” He begins yet another speech why both parties have claims, and it goes on and on. Felix tunes it out: he’s not here for noble pride or fancy words.

“Gentlemen,” Dimitri says, his voice low but commanding. “What His Grace is trying to say, is that both parties have equal claim. We should consider - ah, how do you say it - a creative solution.”

An elder statesman from the former Alliance whose name Felix can't be bothered to remember turns to him. “Then what do you propose we do? Give the land to the common people?”

“What an excellent idea, I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Felix snipes back.

Dimitri’s grip on his inner thigh tightens, and Felix sits a little straighter. 

“We could look into alternative parties. I heard the current major of the largest city has governed the area for decades and is well-beloved. We could persuade her to try it on a larger scale,” Ferdinand says pensively, a small smile on his face.

“A splendid idea,” Dimitri praises. “Invite her to the castle, and I will discuss the matter further with her in private. Case dismissed. Thank you all for your council.”

“But the lords--” the elder statesman starts, distaste obvious in his rigid body posture.

“Your King has spoken,” Felix reminds him with an icy voice and a flash of his teeth. 

The man never saw a second of war, but Felix’s reputation as one of the most deadly warriors to have ever walked this earth - armed with a tongue almost as sharp as his sword - precedes him wherever he goes. The statesman cowers back his seat, his lips sealed shut.

Nobody knows what happens when Felix is stripped of his armor, both physical and mental, or the vulnerabilities underneath the acid and the blades. 

Dimitri’s smile is slightly strained when he speaks again. “Very well. If that is all for this week?”

Sadly, it is not the case. “There is one more issue,” Gilbert - Gustave? - says from his corner. The past five years have only made him look greyer and less friendly. “Your marriage, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri’s hand ghosts over Felix’s hipbone, but Felix maintains his carefully cultivated expression of watchful disinterest. “What of it?” 

“You are not getting any younger,” Gilbert reminds him. “And the Kingdom needs an heir. Have you considered the options we presented last week?”

Dimitri’s eyes narrow slightly, although Felix and Dedue are probably the only ones attuned enough to notice, and Dedue is not here. “I have. They were inadequate.”

It’s the same discussion they have had every week for months, if not years. Gilbert and the other royalists know better than to push Dimitri until he breaks. They tried once, and it had been Felix who had to clean up the mess by putting back Dimitri together again. Gilbert's nose never truly healed straight. Gilbert doesn’t try again. Instead, the old man sighs, shakes his head and says: “I will provide another list next week.”

Nobody knows who keeps the King’s bed warm at night, why he is in no hurry to find a wife to fill that space instead.

Felix usually knows better than to speak up during these conversations, but his patience is especially thin these days. Dimitri knows him too well, but the warning grip on his hips doesn’t stop him from opening his mouth. “Perhaps someone who actually has experience with a good marriage should make up the list next time.”

It’s vicious and undoubtedly inappropriate, but he’s held Annette a few too many times while she cried - more often drunk and overworked - wondering why her father still preferred to stay in Castle Fhirdiad instead of going home to her mother. To her. 

Gilbert shoots him a disapproving look that reminds him all too much of his father. “And who would that be?”

Felix himself is unmarried and everyone who has tried courting him - men and women alike - never stayed in Fhirdiad long after making their intentions clear. They say that his only love is the blade.

Nobody knows the words he cries in the throes of passion, mercilessly ripped from his lips. 

Before Felix can spit his words back at him, Dimitri’s hand travels up, underneath Felix's coat, securely placed against the small of his back. When he spreads his fingers wide he covers his back from left to right, his large hand as warm as it is controlling. He scrapes his nails gently against Felix’s skin: a warning. 

“Please, Sir Gustave,” Dimitri speaks firmly, never raising his voice and yet loud and clear as thunder on a cloudless night. “What His Grace is trying to say is that perhaps a fresh perspective would be beneficial.”

“Perhaps it would be even more _beneficial_ if His Majesty himself could clear some time in his schedule to choose his own bride,” Gilbert replies, one eyebrow raised. 

Dimitri’s smile is full of teeth. “I have no experience in the matter and even less time to devote to learning the intricacies of betrothal. Ruling our fledgling nation, still so scarred by war, requires my full attention, don’t you agree?” 

It’s not a question. 

Gilbert bows his head in deference. “Naturally, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you for clearing up this issue. I will look forward to the next list, under the condition that a third party with experience provides their insight. Now, I believe that is all. Thank you all for your counsel.” It's a dismissal in every sense of the word. Dimitri rises, his hand never leaving Felix’s back, hidden beneath his cloak. “If you excuse us, I have a dinner appointment to keep.”

They don’t wait for the men to finish bowing and uttering their pointless niceties, and Dimitri guides him away to the private part of the castle. Their quarters are located on the east side of the castle - the oldest and coldest part, least comfortable of all - far away from the rooms in which their ancestors spend their nights. It’s a break from tradition, but more importantly, the walls are thick, the windows are small and nobody sets foot into this part of the castle unless they have immediate business with the King himself.

When Dimitri had this part of the castle renovated, he didn’t ask for Felix opinion on the location of his rooms, located conveniently next to his own quarters, only a staircase between them. 

When they arrive in the hallway, it is deserted aside from a single guard, stationed outside of the door to Dimitri’s private quarters. The man nods, but doesn’t say a word. He is a former warrior who helped Dimitri escape from Cornelia at the cost of his own tongue. His loyalty to the crown is absolute - Felix would know, he made sure of it before he appointed him. Dimitri doesn’t know his guard is more than capable of communicating in signlanguage and reports to Felix every Tuesday night. There are a lot of things Dimitri doesn’t know, but it’s better that way. Some things are done better in the dark.

Dimitri insists on walking Felix to his door, although it should be the other way around. The hand on his back is distracting while Felix fumbles with his locks, one in plain sight, and one hidden. Only four people have the keys to his room, and one of them is standing next to him. 

“Good night, Your Grace,” Dimitri says softly, just loud enough for the guard to hear. "I will see you in the morning." 

Felix gives the slightest of bows but doesn’t say anything. Dimitri guides Felix inside with the slightest push of his hand against the small of his back, and then closes the door without a second thought.

Felix locks the doors behind him, the visible lock and the invisible one, and then puts a bar on it for good measure. His room is clean, surprisingly so considering how messy his dorm room always was. Then again, Felix thinks, I actually lived in that room.

He closes the blinds and goes to his study. The fireplace isn’t burning, it never is. With the slightest bit of magic, a twist of his key in a hidden keyhole and a firm shove, a thin secret door opens, hidden inside the fireplace.

Nobody knows that there is a secret passage that connects the King’s Quarters to the chambers belonging to Duke Fraldarius. 

There is not a single cobweb or speck of dust on the floor. There are hundreds of these small secret passages in the castle, and Felix knows them all, uses them all. But none as frequently as this one. 

When he reaches the end he knocks softly, once, and waits. Dimitri doesn’t let him wait for long: within seconds the door on the other side unlocks, and Dimitri all but pulls him from the passage, as if he had been waiting for him the entire time.

Sometimes, Felix wonders what it would be like to do away with this facade, and simply walk in through Dimitri’s door. To sit at Dimitri’s left when he rules his Kingdom, the seat reserved for his wife. But he never wonders for long. It makes no sense to consider impossibilities, and Felix does not have time to indulge in fantasies. 

“Please be seated,” Dimitri orders offhandedly, and the hand that rested on his back or thigh most of the day is back, only this time it lands on his shoulder. It’s shaking slightly as it has all day, and Felix stays right where he is.

Dimitri has shed his cloak and his crown. Even in his plain tunic, he still looks every bit the Savior King of Fodlan, grand and regal. That is, until he turns back to Felix and Felix can properly see the stress written all over his body.

“You’re tense,” Felix says pointedly, folding one arm over the other. “How long did you stay up last night?”

 _How bad were the voices in your head?_ Felix doesn't say. _What - or who - did you think of while you looked at me, sleeping in your bed?_

Dimitri smiles, his lips slightly chapped. “I asked you to sit down. Food will be served soon.” There is a darkness to his tone, a touch of madness in his eyes. Dimitri is a good man and a great king. Kind, compassionate, patient. 

Nobody knows that the one-eyed beast of Garreg Mach is still very much alive, hiding underneath Dimitri’s skin until someone rips it out of him. 

Ten years ago, Felix would have used his words. Would have screamed at Dimitri until he revealed the demons that sometimes still possess his mind. Five years ago, he would have drawn his sword, and tried to cut the Boar until he started talking.

Today, Felix knows neither of those things works. Not really. Instead, he looks up at him and slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. Dimitri’s eyes follow his every movement, mesmerized by the way he works the fabric over the buttons, one by one. 

“Felix,” Dimitri drawls breathlessly, his hands curled in fists.

“What?” Felix bites back, wetting his lips. 

“Dinner will arrive at any moment.”

Felix doesn’t stop. “So?”

Dimitri takes one step forward, and that’s all it takes to cross the distance between them. Years of a healthy diet and constant training have been good to Dimitri’s physique: he is as broad as he has ever been, nearly twice as wide as Felix. His own regime is focused on speed and finesse. Dimitri might be able to overpower him with a single blow, but he will have to catch him first. 

Sometimes, Dimitri revels in the chase. And although Felix would rather die than admit it, he likes to be caught too. 

Upon further inspection, the circles beneath Dimitri’s eyes are more pronounced than they have been in months. Felix undoes another button of his white blouse. 

“ _Felix_ ,” Dimitri warns him, cupping his cheek in a parody of gentleness. 

Felix shivers, and not because of the cold. He keeps his eyes locked with Dimitri as he undoes the final button, and slowly slips his shirt from his shoulders. Another layer of cloth is underneath - Faerghus is too cold to survive without utilizing the art of layering up - but it doesn’t cover his neck, or the bruises Dimitri put there last night.

Dimitri’s hand dips lower until it rests on the junction of his neck and his shoulder. Warm, possessive, _threatening_. There is a mix of insanity and hunger in his darkened eye that makes Felix want to claw it out with both hands.

He's about to do it too when a bell rings, and they both freeze in their spot. The bell rings again, and then a faint knock sounds from the other side of the door. 

“Go,” Dimitri orders, his voice nothing but a soft growl, and pulls his long cloak from the hanger. “Don’t let them see you.”

Felix hesitates for as long as it takes Dimitri to drape the oversized monstrosity over Felix’s shoulders. It’s warm and heavy, and smells like Dimitri. Felix averts his eyes and disappears into the sitting room without making a sound.

Nobody knows what he looks like, covered underneath Dimitri’s furs yet shivering still.

The servant that delivers their food is cheerful as always. Dimitri makes an attempt at small talk because he wants his staff to know they are appreciated, but Felix tunes it out and instead tries to focus on calming his breathing. 

When Dimitri laughs - loud and earnest - Felix digs his nails into the palm of his hand until he’s almost drawing blood. The servant joins in, and for a brief moment, Felix considers sticking his head through the door-opening and reminding his King exactly whom he was supposed to have dinner and conversation with.

But he is a Fraldarius, the last of his name. Ever the faithful servant to the crown. And his King just gave him a direct order, so Felix remains rooted to his spot and waits, one agonizing second after another.

At long last, he hears the sound of the door closing, of a key turning in a keyhole, and he releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Only three people have the key to the King's room, and two of them are here and the other is in Duscur, rebuilding his homeland with the help of his wife. 

“Did you forget about me already?” he says petulantly when Dimitri returns with a steaming plate piled with food. Daphnel Stew, Felix deduces by the smell of it.

“You’re not very easy to forget,” Dimitri answers, and sets the plate on the small table before producing some cutlery. The kitchen staff believes Dimitri eats for two, and sometimes maids whisper about the unfairness that none of his ravenous appetite shows on his body. “Come and eat, you must be starving.” 

Other than the maid that cleans the chambers every two weeks, nobody enters the King’s Quarters uninvited. It is Felix’s duty to know what the people think of his King. He has spies on every street, eyes and ears in every noble house. It’s not how his father served the late King, but Felix was never a Knight, and never will be. He protects Dimitri in his own way, even if nobody is any wiser. There will never be another Duscur during his lifetime. 

Dimitri’s private dining table only has one chair. The Savior King is a solitary man, the rumors say. He loves his subjects all equally, but years of adversity keep him from keeping anyone but his inner circle close. 

Felix treads closer to the table. To suddenly add another chair would spread rumors, which his fledgling King can ill afford. But Dimitri insisted on a pillow, as blue as his cloak, and as soft too. 

“Kneel,” he commands, and just like the day Dimitri was crowned, Felix sinks to his knees wordlessly. At his right hand, the place of a Fraldarius, where he belongs. 

Dimitri cuts a piece of his meat, juicy and tender, and offers it to Felix. “Tell me how it tastes.”

Felix opens his mouth and takes the bite. He chews on the meat: perfectly cooked how he likes it, not how Dimitri likes it. Used to like it, back when he could still taste.

Nobody knows that Dimitri doesn’t have a clue which food he prefers but knows exactly how Felix likes his food. 

Dimitri takes another morsel of food, this time with his hands. “Tell me how it tastes,” he says huskily, sounding a little breathless.

He pushes the piece on Felix’s tongue, lingers a second too long. Felix bites him slightly, a warning sign before he finally retreats, never looking away from Dimitri’s hungry gaze. 

He chews it a few times, trying to catalog every taste and texture, before swallowing. “It’s minced poultry and onions, boiled with salt. A little bit on the salty side, for that matter. You will need to drink plenty.” 

Dimitri licks his lips, but he’s not looking at his plate. “Is it good?”

“It’s acceptable,” Felix answers. “A little too well-done for my taste, but the onions are palatable.”

“I will inform the cook,” Dimitri says and takes a few bites of the poultry himself. He eats quickly, without tasting. That’s what Felix is for when Dedue is gone. The first time Dimitri fed him like this and asked what it tasted like, he didn’t have the vocabulary. He still doesn’t have much culinary knowledge, but after months of tasting and describing everything on Dimitri’s plate for him, he has come to appreciate just how subtle the art of cooking truly is.

It is lost on Dimitri, who cannot enjoy the food, but can and does enjoy providing for him. It’s a basic instinct, animalistic even, to provide for your mate. Felix doesn’t dwell too long on the implications of that thought. 

“And the sauce?” Dimitri asks before dipping two fingers into the gravy and gently pressing them between Felix’s lips.

Felix doesn’t bother answering, and instead slowly licks the length of his index finger. Reaching the tip, he parts his lips and slides them back down the length of his fingers, sucking every last bit of sauce from Dimitri’s hands.

He can’t suppress a smile as Dimitri’s sole eye widens with desire. Sometimes Felix can’t for the life of him figure out what he is thinking. But right now, his thoughts are as simple as a beast, and as savage too.

Dimitri bites back a moan when Felix pulls back, swiping his tongue over his fingers as a parting gift. “Are you that hungry, my sweetheart?” He whispers hoarsely. His hands are shaking when he grasps Felix’s chin and tilts it up, a little bit too fast, a little bit too rough.

Felix is intimately acquainted with the madness in that one blue eye, dark and unblinking. Felix swallows deeply, not because of the food. “Do not call me that.” 

“I will call you whatever I want,” Dimitri purrs, bowing down to press a small kiss against his forehead. 

Felix bites his tongue to keep him from spitting back some retort. Dimitri’s grip on his head is like iron, his hands trembling still.

It has been a long week, and although nobody but their closest friends would be able to tell, ruling Fodlan after the war that both broke and made them takes a heavy toll on Dimitri. 

Once upon a time, he asked Dimitri which one was his true face: the one contorted with anger and bloodlust, or the friendly smiling one.

 _Both,_ Dimitri had answered. But Felix now knows that was a lie. 

Nobody knows the King’s true face.

He barely sees it. It is not the face of a Boar, not of a Prince of King. Sometimes weeks pass by in which Felix doesn't get to see Dimitri’s true face, to the point that he can almost delude himself that the one Dimitri is wearing right now is his true self. But Felix knows better. 

Dimitri’s smile is full of teeth when he opens weaves his hands in Felix’s hair. It hurts, but he’s used to this. A breathy whimper betrays that he doesn’t mind, not anymore. 

“You’re getting food in my hair,” Felix scolds him, but he doesn’t turn his head away.

“If I did, that only means you failed your job to clean my fingers,” Dimitri taunts back. “Perhaps your tongue is rusty from disuse. Perhaps you haven’t practiced enough. Is that it, _sweetheart_?” 

Felix doesn’t answer, shame burning on his cheeks. It delights Dimitri all the more.

“We can’t let your talent go to waste. I shall allow you to practice on me,” he says, already undoing the laces of his pants with his free hand while pushing Felix under the table with his other, until he is firmly wedged between his powerful thighs.

Dimitri is too well-versed in this, and his breeches come down quickly. His cock - already fully hard - jumps free immediately, almost slapping Felix in the face with its considerable size. 

Felix is still hungry for actual food, but he knows better than to ask for it. Showing weakness when Dimitri is like this is like signing a death sentence, and Felix is so tired of death and destruction. He doesn’t protest when Dimitri pushes his face into his crotch. 

“Open up for me, my sweetheart,” he coos gently, a stark contrast to the force with which he grips the back of Felix’s head. “If you can make me come before I finish my dinner, I won’t punish you for your failure earlier.” 

A shiver - either from anticipation or dread, Felix has long since given up on finding out which one it is - shoots up his spine, and Felix does as commanded.

Nobody knows just how blessed Dimitri is in the manhood department, how much of a struggle it is to take it into his mouth, amongst other things.

Despite Dimitri’s earlier words, Felix’s mouth is not out of practice in the least. The stretch of his lips when he takes the head of Dimitri’s cock into his mouth is almost as familiar as the slight burn after a long day of fighting. He closes his eyes, and rests his hands on Dimitri’s hips, hanging on to him while he slowly starts moving back and forth, up and down.

Dimitri rakes his rails through his hair. “Don’t stop until you’ve been fed,” he orderers and then takes his hands away. He knows he doesn’t need them: his words and the threat of disobedience are enough most nights to keep Felix on his knees, especially when Dimitri looks like this: ready to break.

Even so, he can’t stop himself from ‘accidentally’ scraping his teeth on the underside of his cock when he slowly takes him deeper and deeper. It’s always a struggle to accommodate for his length, but the slight huffs he hears Dimitri makes it worth it.

He doesn’t dislike the feel of his cock filling his throat, nor the smell of him when he swallows Dimitri all the way down, burying his nose in his pubic hair. Faintly, Felix registers the clang of a silver spoon scraping against the delicate china plate, a bit too forceful. He doesn’t move until his eyes are tearing up and his lungs are screaming for air. 

Not until Dimitri says breathlessly, “Not so greedy, my sweetest.” 

Felix pulls off in a rush, panting for breath. He’s not the only one, even though Dimitri otherwise looks unaffected. Felix doesn’t need a mirror to know that his lips are swollen red, and will be even worse of by the time he is done.

He keeps their eyes locked, challenging him from his position on his knees. At the same time as Dimitri takes a boiled piece of onion into his mouth, Felix licks his way up his shaft, slowly, sinfully. And then when he finally reached the head, he plunges down again, this time as fast as he can bear. 

“ _Felix_.” Dimitri’s voice is finally - finally! - breaking. Encouraged and aroused, Felix doubles his pace, his own cock straining within its confines. It’s pathetic. It’s tantalizing. 

Dimitri’s hips jerk up a little when Felis hollows his cheeks and swirls his tongue around him. Time flows differently in this room for some reason. Felix wouldn’t know if he spent four hours or four minutes on his knees, servicing his King. There was little to think about, except the weight on his tongue, the considerable girth stretching his throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to do anything but _suck_.

Felix’s cock jumps traitorously when Dimitri pulls him even deeper onto his cock, jerking his hips rapidly, choking him. 

“Look at you, on your knees,” Dimitri growls, soft and oh so low. Felix hangs onto every word he says. “So hungry, wrapped in my colors. You are mine, do you hear me?" He thrusts his hips forward especially hard, grunting. "Tomorrow, when - ah, yes! - you speak, every time your throat aches, you will remember this moment. You will think of me, won’t you?” 

He doesn’t let go, doesn’t allow Felix to answer. Tears are streaming down his face, his jaw hurts and the world is slowly starting to spin from the lack of air, but still Felix nods enthusiastically around his cock.

“Only of me. Nobody else,” Dimitri groans. The rasp in his voice is purely primal, and that - not the savage thrusts of his cock down his throat, not the merciless grip on his hair - is how Felix knows that he has finally managed to truly bring out the beast. 

Dimitri curses under his breath at the same time his thrusts increase, faster and faster, fucking as deep into Felix’s tightening throat as he physically can. Then, just when Felix is about to bite down or scratch Dimitri open, he stiffens and comes hard. He doesn’t give Felix the option to do anything but swallow, spurting his hot seed directly down his throat with a savage roar. Dimitri gives, and Felix takes.

When he finally pushes him off his cock, Felix falls forward, completely boneless. He is sweating, crying and heaving for breath. Most of all, his own release is right around the corner, as humiliating as it is.

Dimitri isn’t gentle when he pulls him up into his lap. Through the haze, Felix looks at him: his eyes are so blue, strong and commanding, but also a little sad, vulnerable. The perfect royal and the savage boar are gone, Felix realizes, and the revelation makes him choke on his own happy tears. There he is, at last.

“Come for me,” Dimitri orders carefully, pressing his hand softly against the front of Felix’s hand. It’s _his_ Dimitri, neither beast nor king, but the broken man that is both and neither of them. The one that Felix loves so desperately.

How could he ever refuse his Dimitri anything? Felix doesn’t need more than that single touch, those three words and Dimitri’s eyes on him. Lightning shoots through him, catches him off guard and then shatters him into a million pieces while he soils his breeches quite spectacularly, all the while groaning his King’s name.

“Quiet, my Felix,” Dimitri whispers back, putting his hand over Felix’s mouth to silence him. Felix kisses it, one finger at a time, feeling so full yet so empty. Everything at once and still not enough.

Dimitri catches him when he comes down from his high, his arms around him a little bit too tight, a little bit too frightened. 

Felix sobs, but only once. He still has his pride.

“You are quite eager to disobey me today, aren’t you?” Dimitri says suddenly, his voice a little too tight for Felix’s liking.

Felix tries to speak, to ask what he is talking about, but all that comes out is a raspy breath. He swallows, the last remnants of his King’s sperm still in his mouth. 

He turns around to take a sip of Dimitri’s goblet, and that’s when he sees it: Dimitri’s plate is clean.

Felix turns back to Dimitri, his eyes wide. The beast smiles back.

“Now, how shall I punish you tonight, my love? Actions must have consequences, after all.”

Nobody knows how the King of Fodlan touched him that night for hours and hours until Felix forgot his own name.

The next day, Felix skips his morning practice and doesn’t speak up or disagrees during their meetings. He doesn’t speak at all, nothing except an occasional raspy “Your Majesty.” 

Nobody wonders why his voice is so damaged. Nobody dares approach him when he is seated next to his king.

Dimitri smiles at him generously, his hand hidden underneath the fabric of Felix’s black cloak, the same one Dimitri dressed him in this morning, along with the high-collared blue shirt he had made for him recently.

Nobody sees Dimitri’s marks on his neck, as black and blue as Dimitri’s own clothes.

Felix thinks of Dimitri all day, of the way his shoulders are still tense, of the way his nails dig into his back a bit too deeply. Of his smile, so vast but so fake. 

But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know the words to reach Dimitri, not during daylight.

Nobody knows how Felix would fall apart if Dimitri would be ripped away from him. Nobody knows the extent to which Dimitri will go in order to keep Felix by his side. Nobody knows how their love is slowly tearing them apart. 

Nobody knows any of this - not a single soul - except the two of them.

But that is about to change.

**Author's Note:**

> There definitely is another chair in that room, but Felix is not a reliable narrator in any way, shape or form. 
> 
> Happy fill-a-thon! As soon as this prompt was posted, it called out to me and I knew I had to fill it. I originally intended to take this chapter as a starting point and then slowly fix them, but I kind of lost steam halfway through chapter 2 so I will leave it at this, since I technically filled the prompt.
> 
> Edit: once the big bang is over and I am no longer held captive by that wip, I'll get to chapter 2, I promise 😘


End file.
